"Why should you hate her? She was always good to you."
"Good! Do not name the woman. If you want to go to her, go. I hope you will carry her nothing but sorrow and ill-luck. I do! I do! I hate her as the sailor hates the sunken reef. I have not asked myself why. I only know that I have plenty of reason."
"Do not be so excessive, Denasia. I shall leave for the West to-night. Would you like me to see your father? Your mother I decline to see."
"Leave my father alone. You would not dare to go near him. If you do I will never speak to you again--never!"
Roland laughed lightly at her passion and answered with a provoking pleasantry: "You feel too, too, too furiously, Denasia. It is not ladylike. Your emotions will wear away your beauty."
So Roland went by the night train to St. Penfer, and Denasia took the train after his for the same place. She was determined to see her parents once more, and all their habits were so familiar to her that she had no fear of accomplishing her desire unknown to them. She timed her movements so well that she arrived at a small wayside station near St. Penfer about dusk. No one noticed her, and she sped swiftly across the cliff-path, until it touched the path leading downward to her own home.
The little village was quite still. The children had gone to bed. The men were at sea. The women were doing their last daily duties. Denasia kept well in the shadow of the trees till she was opposite her home. A few steps across the shingle would bring her to the door. She tried to remember what her mother might be doing just at that hour, and while thus employed Joan came to the door, stood a moment on the threshold, and then went slowly to the next cottage. She had her knitting in her hand, and she was likely going to sit an hour with Ann Trewillow. When Joan's footsteps no longer crunched the shingle there was no sound but the ocean beating on the shore and the wind stirring the tree-tops, and when Joan and Ann Trewillow went inside Ann's cottage there was not another human creature visible.
Swiftly, then, Denasia crossed the shingle. She was at the door of her home. It stood wide open. She entered and looked around. Nothing was changed; the same glow of red fire on the white hearth, the same order and spotless cleanliness, the same atmosphere of love and peace and of life holy and simple. She was not hungry, but she was very thirsty and exceedingly weary. The bucket was full of freshly drawn water; she drank and then turned her face to her own room. A strong, sweet curiosity tempted her to enter it, and its air of visible welcome made her smile and weep. It was then impossible to resist the desire that filled her heart; she shut the door, she unclothed herself, and once more lay down in her home to sleep.